A Christmas Truce: Another World War I Adventure
by Rowena Zahnrei
Summary: Christmas, 1914. And the war rages on... Lt. Logan is a newly minted pilot in the Royal Flying Corps. His observer, Major Smith, is an inscrutable sort with an odd foreknowledge of what's to come. When the pair are ordered on a reconnaissance mission, the Germans' mysterious flying Ace is soon on their tail. Will the Christmas Truce taking hold in the trenches extend to the skies?
1. Part I

Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. Please don't sue me or steal my story. Thanks!

Note I: This story takes place in Belgium between December 24-25 1914, the first year of World War I. Since fighter planes were introduced to warfare in 1915, the Henri Farman and Taube biplanes featured in this story are essentially observation and reconnaissance tools. To fight, the planes' occupants had to fire at each other with revolvers or rifles or actually throw objects at each other through the air.

Note II: Britain did not establish a Royal Air Force (RAF) until 1918. Before that, British fliers were divided between the Royal Army and the Royal Navy. The air arm of the British Army was called the Royal Flying Corps (RFC), and the air arm of the British Navy was called the Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS).

Note III: Much of the inspiration for this story was drawn from what may just be my all-time favorite Christmas song, "Snoopy's Christmas," by The Royal Guardsmen: "Christmas bells, those Christmas bells, Rang out from the land, Asking peace of all the world, and good will to Man!"; and from compiled letters of soldiers who experienced the largely illicit, totally unofficial, undeniably magical hours when, in some few spots along the lines, the British and German troops put down their weapons and, together, celebrated Christmas in the space between the trenches.

 _General Historical Note_ _: WWI lasted from August 1914 until November 11, 1918. At that time, Germany was ruled by Kaiser Wilhelm II. The Nazi party had its start during the troubled Weimar Republic that was set up after the Kaiser's forced abdication and flight to Holland following the war. The Weimar period lasted from 1919 until 1933 when, on January 30, Hitler was sworn in as Chancellor. Once he was in power, he and his Nazis almost immediately got to work provoking Europe into starting WWII. In other words, no Nazis will appear in this story._

And now, without further ado: the story! I hope you enjoy it! :)

* * *

 **A Christmas Truce: Another World War I Adventure**

 **By Rowena Zahnrei**

"'Twas the night before Christmas…"

"Huh? What's that, Major?" said the Canadian officer, Lt. Logan.

Major John Smith glanced at the aerodrome's newest arrival and offered a very slight smile.

"I just realized," Smith spoke with a lilting, Northern English accent, "tomorrow's Christmas Day."

"What of it?" the Canadian grunted, chomping irritably on what little was left of his cigar. "Sir."

"We're expected to go up for a reconnaissance flight tomorrow," the major said musingly. "Just as if it were any other day. The war goes on and on without mercy or pause. Yet, back in August, when it all began, we were so sure we'd all be home by Christmas."

His solemn face grew grim, but he quipped, "No chance they'd end the war before midnight, then."

Logan grunted again and shuffled toward the window. He tilted his head slightly, seeming to sniff the air.

"Weather's shifted," he said. "A hard frost is comin'. We go up tomorrow, we'll freeze our tails."

"Christmas Eve, 1914… When did it start… Around…what was it…eight-thirty in the evening…?"

"It's six-forty-five," Logan informed him.

The major rose from his compact writing desk and joined the lieutenant at the window. The two men made for a rather sharp contrast: the major tall and lanky with large ears and dark, short-cropped hair; the lieutenant shorter, but thickly muscled, his powerful arms at least twice the width of his companion's.

Beyond the cracked pane, a light snow had begun to fall. Major Smith pulled a large watch from his pocket and stared at its face. Six-forty-six, it read.

After a long moment, he seemed to make a decision.

"Come on," he said, heading for the door.

"Sir?" the lieutenant questioned.

"This is an order, Lieutenant," the major said. "Follow me."

 _To Be Continued..._

* * *

 _Author's Note: Hi! This is just the start of a story I've been wanting to write for several years, but I just haven't been able to find the time to pry it out of my head. I don't have the time to write it now, to be honest, but I'm going to do it anyway because it's almost Christmas and, despite everything going on and everything I have to do, it's been getting harder and harder to_ not _write it. So, here's the teeny, tiny amount I was able to finish today, and I'll try to be back with more tomorrow. :)_

 _If this story nugget's got you curious, I do have a completed World War I adventure featuring Wolverine, Iceman, and Nightcrawler. It's called "The Midnight Aviator," and it takes place in 1916. If you peek, please review. I'd love to know what you think! :)_

 _Thanks for reading! Until next time!_


	2. Part II

Thank you! :D I'm glad you're enjoying my story so far! Sorry I wasn't able to post an update last night - I only got about 400 words in after our big Seven Fishes Christmas Party before stupid sleep snuck up behind my chair and knocked me out (usually we have that Feast on Christmas Eve, but not everyone could make it today so we had it yesterday instead). But, after cooking and baking so very much stuff yesterday and the day before, I don't have to make anything today. Hooray for leftovers! :D So now, here's:

* * *

Part II

Logan had joined the effort at the Western Front back in summer, when the United Kingdom's declaration of war on Germany automatically pulled the British dominion of Canada into the fray. Since then, he'd seen action in Belgium and France, watching the body count pile up as the infantry's positions grew ever more entrenched, until his small size and fierce disposition led his commanding officer to recommend him to the fledgling Royal Flying Corps to train as a pilot: a shining knight of the air.

This was his first assignment since completing his training - flying reconnaissance over the trenches that scarred the fields of southern Belgium. He flew an Henri Farman observation plane that looked, at first glance, like a child's toy of wood and paper, but was really one of the more reliable machines available.

In a reconnaissance plane, the observer was in charge, not the pilot, and Logan had gone up with several senior officers during the few weeks since arriving at his new post. Lately, though, he'd most often been paired with Major Smith who, he'd discovered, the rest of the men found to be even more of an enigma than the surly Canadian newcomer. Rumor had it, the major had been a doctor of some sort before the war. Academic or medical, no one seemed to know.

But, Logan didn't care. As he'd growl to anyone who braved his stony glare long enough to ask: a man's past was his own business. 'Nuff said.

There's a sort of camaraderie that can grow in silence. A mutual respect for personal space and secrets. It was clear to everyone the major was brooding on something. That he'd likely suffered some terrible loss.

Logan didn't press, and he didn't pry. He had secrets enough of his own.

Major Smith accepted that.

Which was why, when the major signed out a mule-drawn cart and ordered the lieutenant to drive across the snowy fields in the direction of the forward trenches, Logan didn't question or hesitate. He simply drove, his eyes sharp and his heightened senses on full alert.

The major had a certain talent for getting past guards. A flash of paper, a few glib words, and the pair were ushered through every checkpoint until they reached the front line. Beyond that sloping, muddy wall of earth lay the shell-pocked wastes of No Man's Land that stretched between the British and German trenches.

The enemy was so near, Logan could actually smell the Hun soldiers, and he bared his teeth, feeling his hackles rise...

"Major Smith!"

Captain Adderson dismissed the private who had notified him of the officers' arrival, then ducked out of his low, board-lined dugout and set his cap over his dark, dust-flecked hair. Like all the men around them, his pale face, trim mustache, and woolen, khaki uniform were smudged and stained with mud, and the dark half-circles under his eyes indicated how long it had been since he'd had a full night's sleep. Nevertheless, he kept up an alert and energetic posture as he approached the two visiting officers.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here, old boy?" he greeted cheerily, his eyes and teeth shining oddly in the moonlight as he shook the major's hand. "I must admit, I never expected to see you flying folk down in the mud with the rest of us lowly trench rats."

Smith grinned - a broad, toothy smile that changed his whole face.

"Adderson, old man," he said. "I know it's unorthodox, frowned upon, what have you. But, when I learned you were stationed so near our base... Well. I couldn't pass up the chance to wish a Merry Christmas to an old friend, now could I? Not in these uncertain times."

The brightness faded from the captain's smile.

"Of course, old man," he said. "But, don't stay out here, sir. Come in, come in."

He led the way back into the small, dark hole from which he'd emerged. Major Smith had to duck almost double to make it through, and even Logan's sharp eyes needed a few moments to adjust to the dim lamplight within the cramped, stuffy space.

"We keep our lamps and torches hooded up here," Adderson explained as he placed his cap on a peg. "This close to the German lines, even lighting a cigarette outside can be risky. Beyond that, bright lights do wreak merry havoc on one's night vision."

Logan nodded approvingly, casting his gaze over the rough, earthy hole. Wooden supports helped secure the dirt walls and ceiling. There was a small table, a storage box, and a couple of sleeping spaces. His sensative nostrils tingled with the strong scents of fresh dirt, candle wax, tobacco, and lamp oil.

"It's good you've come now," Captain Adderson was saying as the three of them took a seat around the table. "We had a miserable stretch of wet weather before this. Mud practically up to our knees. Things are starting to firm up with this cold snap, though."

"Then, you might appreciate this present I've brought you," Major Smith said, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out a pair of thick, knitted socks.

Captain Adderson accepted the warm-looking socks with something like reverence.

"Got a parcel a few days back," the major explained. "A knitting circle up in Manchester got it in their heads to knit socks and gloves to support the war effort."

"Well, the notion is certainly appreciated," Adderson said. "Thank you, sir. But..."

He knit his brow, his dark eyes honing in on the major's quirking expression.

"I know you, Smith. You're a wily one, and no mistake. If you've come here, it's ten-to-one odds something's going to happen in this place, and soon. Something outlandish, peculiar, and dangerous enough never to appear in an official report."

Smith chuffed a laugh and pulled out his watch.

"Lieutenant," he said to Logan, "your hearing's sharper than mine. Tell me if you hear anything—"

"Captain! Captain Adderson, sir!"

A young private with round glasses and a face raw-red with cold ducked into the dugout, only to come to quick attention when he realized the captian had guests.

"My apologies, sir!"

"What is it, Private?" Adderson demanded, turning a dry glare to Smith.

"Somethin's goin' on over at the German lines, sir," the private reported. "They've got their trenches all lit up. Lieutenant Saunders thinks they're schemin' somethin', sir. He said to inform you right away."

"Of course," Adderson said, and sighed angrily. "Go tell the lieutenant I'll join him shortly."

The private dashed away into the darkness.

Adderson crossed his arms.

"Well, you Black Spot?" he demanded of Smith. "You harbinger of chaos. Is there anything I should know before I venture out there to risk my neck? Or, should I say, anything you're willing to tell me?"

"Not a thing," Smith said, his expression decidedly impish.

Adderson curled his lip, then stood and straightened his uniform.

"Right," he said, reaching for his cap. "Then you two won't mind coming with me."

"Not in the least," the major said lightly. "Will we, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Logan said, his face entirely expressionless.

While it was true he didn't know what to expect, he felt he'd learned more about Major Smith in these last few minutes than he had in all the weeks they'd been flying together. The strange exchange between these two apparently old friends had hinted at a side of the stern, somber major Logan had never expected was there.

And, it had his curiousity piqued.

 _To Be Continued…_

* * *

 _Note: During WWI, many civilians formed knitting groups to try to aid the war effort. These knitters were women, children and men who filled their free moments making warm socks, gloves, scarves and other garments to supplement military uniforms, which too often lacked sufficient warmth and comfort. In some places, these offerings were called "comforts." Some knitting groups in the US started sending garments to support the overseas war effort long before the US officially joined WWI in 1917, inspired by civilian knitters who had done the same for soldiers during the American Civil War. The effort became so popular and widespread, the military grew concerned about 'rogue' knitters, disapproving of some of the more colorful garments these civilians were sending to the troops. So, official knitting patterns and stitches (like, as legends suggest, the Kitchener Stitch, which provides a way to graft a sock's toe closed without a bulky, uncomfortable seam) were developed to encourage knitters to produce practical, khaki-colored socks, gloves, etc._

 _Until next time, thanks so much for reading! Your reviews and comments are always welcome! :)  
_

 _Merry Christmas Eve! :D_


	3. Part III

And more! Merry even Eve-ier Christmas Eve! :D

Part III

 _Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,_ _  
_ _Alles schläft; einsam wacht_ _  
_ _Nur das traute hochheilige Paar._ _  
_ _Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,_ _  
_ _Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!_ _  
_ _Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!_

The sound of German voices raised in song wafted over the frozen fields. All along the frozen trench, British soldiers listened warily, their anxiety palpable as they turned their eyes toward their captain and his strange guests.

"What does it mean, Cap'n?" one of the men asked, keeping his voice low.

"You think it's some kind of trap, sir?" inquired another. "A ploy to lure us into the open?"

"It's just a few carols, lads," Adderson said. "No cause for alarm. Just keep to your posts and stay sharp."

 _"English soldier!"_ accented voices called from the darkness. " _English soldier! A merry Christmas! A merry Christmas!"_

Chuckling laughter followed, and then more singing.

 _O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,_  
 _Wie treu sind deine Blätter!_

"Sounds like they're havin' a right party over there, sir," a young private observed as the song went on. "Maybe should sing somethin' back?"

"It is Christmas Eve, after all, Cap'n," another man said. "What would it hurt?"

 _Du grünst nicht nur_  
 _zur Sommerzeit,_  
 _Nein auch im Winter, wenn es schneit._

"I saw them Germans draggin' pine trees down into their trenches earlier today," a third soldier spoke up. "Might be nice to get a Christmas tree of our own..."

 _O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,_  
 _Wie treu sind deine Blätter!_

Captain Adderson set his jaw.

 _"English soldier!"_ The call came again as the carol came to an end. _"How are things in London?"_

 _"Come out, English soldier! Come out here to us!"_

"Stay where right where you are," Adderson ordered the uncertain men. "Don't any of you reply! You," he snapped, gesturing to Logan and Major Smith. "With me. Now."

Finding a sheltered spot where they wouldn't be heard was quite a challenge in such tight quarters, but the angry captain managed it. Turning on his heel, he faced Major Smith with a withering glare.

"You know what's happening here, don't you, Major," he said. "Was Private Heath right? Is this a ploy to lure our men into the open?"

"I assure you, Captain, it's nothing like that," Smith said. "I'll admit, I did come here tonight because I suspected something like this might happen. But there's nothing scheming or malicious to—"

"Wait," the captain said, holding up up a hand. "Do you hear..."

A lone, tenor voice rose from the darkness. A voice that was soon joined by another, and then several more...

 _The First Noel the angel did say_  
 _Was to certain poor shepherds_  
 _In fields as they lay;_  
 _In fields as they lay, lay tending their sheep,_  
 _On a cold winter's night that was so deep._

 _Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel,_  
 _Born is the King of Israel._

"Those are my men," the captain said angrily.

"Calm down," the major said. "It's not as if you can really blame them—"

"I damn well can blame them," Adderson retorted. "And, I must say, I'm suprised at you, Major! It almost sounds to me as if you approve of this!"

"Approve?" He sighed deeply and shook his head. "I'm tired, Captain, and that's the truth. I can tell by looking that you feel the same. And if we're this bad, imagine how those men out there feel."

He glanced out into the moonlit dimness, where men with muddied boots and half-frozen toes stood at their posts, weapons gleaming by their sides.

"They need a break," he said. "They deserve one. That's why I'm asking you... Give this night a chance. We all could use a reprieve from the death and bloodshed we've had this year."

"You know what you're advocating, Major," Adderson said. "Dissension in the ranks! Fraternization with the enemy!"

"Seems to me, _they're_ the ones holding out the olive branch," Smith said.

Adderson pursed his lips, his mustache bristling.

"Lieutenant," he said, turning his dark gaze to Logan. "Any thoughts?"

Logan looked grim.

"I have to agree with the Captain, sir," he said gruffly. "There's a reason we discourage the men from fraternizing with the enemy. An overture from the opposing side can blow up faster'n an obstructed gun barrel. An' I wouldn't trust those Germans out there 's far as I could toss 'em."

Adderson raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed?"

"Captain Adderson, sir!" a young officer called out. "Private Murker's returned from 'is patrol with a message, sir."

"Send him over, Lieutenant," the captain said, and a rather breathless private hurried over to them.

"Your report?" Adderson prompted.

"Yes, sir," the private said. "I was out makin' me rounds, sir, when I met this German patrol. I raised me weapon, but they waved me down. Offered me this here flask of whisky and a few cigars, then gave me this message. They said to tell you, sir, if we don't fire at them, they will not fire at us."

He held out a slip of folded paper.

"Here it is in writing, if you don't believe me, sir."

Adderson took the paper, unfolded it, showed it to Smith, then tore it into little pieces.

"No," he said.

"Captain—" Smith protested.

"I said no, Major!" Adderson snapped. "I am vehemently against this whole bloody thing. And it's not because I don't trust the Germans. It's because I don't trust myself. Do you think I like all this killing, Major? Do you think I enjoy watching my men - my _boys_ \- get blown to smithereens by German shells? We're none of us here on holiday, we're here to win this damned, bloody war. So, there'll be no truce, Major. I'll not see my lads go soft, not for Christmas nor any other night."

"That's your final word?" Smith said grimly.

Adderson sighed and brushed a quick hand over his mustache.

"I'll go this far," he said. "I'll order the men not to fire unless fired upon. And they can sing what carols they like so long as they maintain a sharp lookout. But, there's be none of this call-and-response with the enemy. And I'll not have them climbing out into No Man's Land."

"Beggin' the Captain's pardon," the private said, "but they've been doin' just that jus' a little ways down the line. It was quite the sight to see, I'll tell you. The Germans had their trenches all lit up, and some of 'em had set up these Christmas trees. Nothin' fancy, mind, but I saw our lads and their lads standin' there in that frozen field, and they was singin' and toastin' the holiday together, an' I even saw a few of theirs and a few of ours kickin' this leather football around. I tell you, sirs, in all my born days I've never seen the like."

The major seemed to brighten at this news, but Logan and the captain seemed more somber than before.

"This isn't a party, Private," Adderson snapped. "Get back to your post."

"Yes, sir," the young man said, and scurried off into the darkness.

"Is there anything else, Major?" Adderson asked.

"No, Captain," Smith said, a very small smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "No, I think I have what I came for. Merry Christmas, Edmund."

He held out his hand.

The captain stared at it for a long moment. Then, slowly, his expression softened.

"And you, John," he said, giving his friend's hand a firm shake. "Have a safe journey back."

* * *

Logan remained silent all the way back to the aerodrome. If he strained his ears, he could still hear the men in the trenches, singing their Christmas songs as a light snow began stick and stay on the frozen ground.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Major Smith said once they'd returned the mule cart and were heading back to their barracks.

Logan grunted.

"If I may ask, sir," he said. "What the hell was the point of that little trip?"

"What do you think it was, Lieutenant?" the major asked.

"Not my place to say," Logan replied. "But, if you want my opinion, sir, I think it's dangerous what's goin' on up there. The captain's right. We're fighting a war. And, in war, we can't afford sentiment. Not even at Christmas."

The major snorted a soft laugh through his nose.

"We'll see, Lieutenant," he said. "You know, I'm glad we're going on that reconnaissance flight tomorrow. In fact, after tonight, I'm actually looking forward to it!"

Logan grunted, but held his tongue. To his mind, this 'Christmas Truce' was not to be trusted. And, after all he'd just witnessed, he wasn't so sure the Major should be either.

 _To Be Continued..._

* * *

 _Note: The basic chronology of events and Private Murker's account of meeting a German patrol and being given whisky and cigars were taken from letters and journals of WWI soldiers._

 _Stay tuned, thanks for reading, and Merry Christmas! :D_


	4. Part IV

Part IV

Christmas morning dawned over still, silent fields lightly iced over and dusted with snow. A landscape of mud, rubble, and wire fencing, chewed up by artillery shells and wagon tracks, suddenly appeared pristine, untouched, the rough scars softened by a shimmering blanket of white.

To the men in the trenches, it seemed something magical had carried over from the previous evening, when the sound of gunfire had momentarily been replaced by voices on both sides sharing songs and Christmas cheer.

Logan scowled as he tromped across the freezing powder in his heavy boots, his lit stogie clenched between his teeth. He soon met up with another fresh set of prints, and few quick sniffs of the chilly air told him they belonged to Major Smith.

"Ah! Lieutenant Logan!" Smith greeted from the hangar, his breath forming frozen clouds as he spoke. "Merry Christmas! Let's hurry up and get through this checklist, old boy. We've a reconnaissance mission ahead of us, and I've been itching to observe this day from the air."

Logan snorted cigar smoke, but didn't comment. He just mused that, with the major in this mood, he'd have to be hyper-alert. Christmas or not, the enemy was still the enemy. And, as his flight instructor had often said: there was only one word to describe a pilot foolish enough to let down his guard.

Dead.

* * *

"Well, Lieutenant?" Smith shouted over the biting wind and the buzzing roar of the Henri's motor. "Just look at those fields down there. Beautiful. This far above the wasted earth, one can almost imagine this war's been nothing but a long and terrible dream. Can humanity wake to see itself at peace? How long can the Christmas spirit hold against the fears and furies of war?"

Logan grunted, a surge of irritation at the major's romanticized notions causing him to tighten his grip on the controls. The air was very cold and thin, the wintry wind caused a tremble of turbulence that rattled the aircraft's wings. It was hard enough keeping their course steady and smooth without having to act the lookout too.

"Logan, old man! Down there! Look down there!" the major shouted, pointing with his gloved finger.

Logan took his eyes from the white-gray horizon to scan the trenches far below. He saw two groups of men, some in British uniforms, some in German uniforms, milling about in the frozen wastes between the lines. Some of the shell-pocked fields still held furrow marks from the last time they'd been plowed, but the uneven terrain didn't seem to matter to these men. From seemingly out of nowhere, someone produced a leather ball and, within minutes, an impromptu game of soccer or, as the major would call it, football, had broken out between the two opposing sides. There was nothing official, no sign they'd appointed a referee, but Logan could hear the soldiers' shouts and cheers even above the engine's whine.

"Fantastic!" Major Smith cried out, his face nearly split by a huge, toothy grin.

Logan shook his head.

"Fraternizin'," he grumbled into the wind.

"There's never been anything like this. Never, in a human history replete with war," the major enthused. "Oh, Lieutenant, can't you feel the joy of it!"

A distant whine tingled in Logan's sensitive ears, and he pulled his eyes away from the football match to focus on the gray and hazy sky.

There, far closer than it should be, buzzed a German Taube - the monoplane looking far more like a predatory hawk than the dove for which it had been named.

"Damn," he snarled, harshly berating himself as he reached for his revolver. How could he have been so sloppy! He'd allowed the major's soppy mood to distract him, and now an enemy machine was straight ahead, practically in shooting distance. Out loud, he shouted: "Sorry to spoil the moment, sir, but we've got a German Taube machine headin' in our direction."

"What?" the major exclaimed. "Wait—"

But, Logan had already slid into immediate evasive maneuvers, aiming to set the major up with a side shot at the Taube's engine and propeller.

"No! Don't engage, Lieutenant!" Smith reprimanded. "He's probably out observing the truce, same as we are, and it wouldn't do to provoke a fight. In fact, I think it might be time we get home with our report."

A puff of smoke, a distant _bang_ , and a revolver bullet tore a hole in the Henri's tail.

"Somehow, Major, I don't think that so-called truce down there extends to the skies," Logan snapped, recovering quickly and resuming his defensive maneuvers. "I say we should go for him, sir."

Another bullet whizzed past, then another.

"Seems he wants a fight," Smith said darkly.

"With respect, sir, I'm telling you we should go for him," Logan repeated firmly, just waiting for the order to fire his gun.

More bullets came flying. Logan felt a sharp, stinging blow to his leg, and then the rudder went worryingly slack.

"No, no, no," the major muttered.

"He's forcing us down, sir," Logan shouted, needing all his focus, strength and skill to keep their machine from falling into a deadly spin. "Dammit! We're going to have to land behind enemy lines!"

"No, no, no, no, this isn't supposed to happen!" the major cried. "It's not supposed to be like this! Not here! Not today!"

"Get yer head outta the damn clouds, Major!" Logan roared, his swelling fury getting the better of him as he wrestled the dangerously shaking biplane away from a strand of poplars toward a wider, snow-speckled field. "This is war! And war don't take no time outs! That Boche bastard is right on our tail! We're goin' down without firin' a single shot, an' if the landin' doesn't kill us, no doubt that damn Hun pilot will try his hand at finishin' the job, Christmas or no Christmas!"

Logan snarled and clenched his teeth as the frozen ground grew rapidly closer.

"I said this fraternizin' business was a bad idea..."

 _To Be Concluded!_

* * *

 _Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay, but this is the first chance I've had to get back to this story. Only one chapter left to go now! Stay tuned, thanks so much for reading, and I'm really glad you've been enjoying my story (and notes) so far! Thank you! :D  
_


	5. Part V

Part V

The wound in Logan's leg was like hot, molten lava burning through his flesh. It was always worse when the bullet didn't pass all the way through. He clenched his teeth in a vicious snarl, feeling his rapidly knitting muscles gradually push the lump of invasive metal back out of the ragged tear in his skin.

He ripped a slit in his bloodied trousers with his knife and caught the bullet in his hand as the scar healed without a trace, the intense pain fading along with it.

The Henri had come down hard, the landing chassis unable to get a proper hold on the rough, frozen ground. The Henri had slid against an irrigation ditch and pitched on its nose.

Logan gave himself and his controls a quick check-over, then sat up to look to his observer.

Major Smith wasn't there. Scanning his eyes over the deeply furrowed field, Logan saw the major had been tossed about ten yards out into the snow. And, he wasn't moving.

Logan swore darkly and slipped his knife and bloodied bullet into his pocket, climbing out of the sharply-tilted machine with surprising agility. He jogged to the major's side and quickly felt for a pulse, then pressed his ear to the man's chest.

 _Ba da da ba._

 _Ba da da ba._

Logan raised his head and frowned. That thrumming beat was not the regular _ba da, ba da_ he'd expected to hear.

"Two hearts."

"Major?"

"I have two hearts," the major said, groaning a little as he gingerly pulled his sore body into a sitting position, his sharp eyes fixed on Logan's ripped and bloodied trousers. "I know that may seem a bit irregular. But, I'll wager I'm not the only one here who wouldn't exactly be classified as 'normal'."

Logan snorted and held out a hand. The major accepted and allowed the burly Canadian to help pull him to his feet.

"Well," he said, gazing out over the snow to their awkwardly tilted machine. "This was a disaster."

He pursed his lips and shook his head, his angular features hardening.

"I'm not from here, you know," he said. "This planet. I came because I was trying to remember. To recapture something of the man I'd been...so long ago... I have seen so much war, Lieutenant. War that raged across the stars, ruining without reason. All the cleverness of the universe turned toward hatred and spite and I was there, a warrior, forced to watch my planet burn...

"Still, I thought...here... This world, this day... I'd find something different. That miraculous pause when weary soldiers took a moment to recall their shared humanity and toast their noble foe. But, that's all it was, really. A pause. One brief and inconsistent anomaly. It doesn't stop, this War to End All Wars, it only gets worse. And, despite all peace-building efforts, the bitter anger carries on, beyond the armistice, to set the stage for horrors still to come..."

He glanced at Logan from the corner of his eye.

"Do you think I'm mad, Lieutenant?" he asked. "To be talking this way?"

"Not sure I buy the alien stuff, bub," Logan said. "But the rest..."

He stopped and tilted his head, the sound of raised voices catching his ears.

"Lieutenant?" the major prompted, but Logan shushed him, indicating they should move closer to the line of trees that edged the open field, where there was no snow to give away their position.

Logan didn't know much German, but he was familiar enough to catch a basic gist as two figures bundled up in long coats and white scarves strode into the field. The first who, from his stride, appeared to be the superior officer, was tall and broad, the second small, lithe and quick. The pair were in the middle of some kind of argument, and angry enough to have let down their guard.

Logan pulled out his revolver, relieved to see the major do the same. But, rather than fire they waited, curious enough to watch and listen for a few moments more...

"They're fliers," the major whispered. "From that Taube we met up with. That smaller one there seems to have landed against orders... He's insisting they check for casualties."

"You speak German?" Logan said suspiciously.

The major smiled.

"I have a time ship," he said. "Translates for me."

Logan shook his head.

"You really are a nut."

The major's smile broadened.

"You know we can't let them get near our machine, Major," Logan said. "They'd have access to our maps, instruments, guns—"

" _English pilot!_ " the smaller man shouted in a lightly accented voice. " _English pilot! Are you wounded, English pilot? Can you answer?_ "

Logan raised his pistol.

Major Smith placed a hand on his arm.

"Wait," he said. "I'll fire. I want to see what they do."

The major fired a warning shot, aiming well away from the two men.

" _Wagner, du blauer Idiot!_ "

The taller German swore loudly at his junior officer, but the smaller man, Wagner, quickly tore off his white scarf and waved it over his head.

" _Nein!_ " he shouted. "Do not shoot! We will not shoot if you do not shoot!"

The major turned to Logan and quirked his eyebrows.

"Well, Lieutenant?" he said. "I'll leave this up to you. Do we trust them, or shoot them dead right here?"

Logan snarled.

"I don't trust any of them stinkin' Huns. An' I don't approve of fraternizin'."

"Then, we fire," Smith said, raising his weapon.

"Wait."

Smith regarded him curiously.

"Damn it all..." Logan muttered. "If this is a trap..."

"I take full responsibility," the major said.

"Yeah, but you're an 'alien'," Logan sneered. "If this all turns sideways, how do I know you won't just disappear into your 'time ship' an' leave me to sit out the war in some damned German prisoner camp?"

"You don't," the major said and grinned, his eyes taking on a rather manic gleam. "Come on, Logan. Let's do this."

* * *

Wagner kept his white scarf raised and his winter hood pulled low as the men from the fallen British biplane emerged from the trees, their guns in their hands and pointed at the Germans.

"I don't trust these English bastards," his captain muttered, his pale blue eyes as cold and hard as ice. "Not as far as I could throw them."

"They will not fire, Captain," Wagner assured him. "Not today."

"Wagner, you think like a child. War is war, no matter the day. We fight to win."

"With respect, Captain," Wagner said, "who is the more childish? The man who hides behind absolutes, or the man willing to take the risk of keeping an open mind?"

"Double talk from Nature's freak," the captain snarled. "Your mother should have drowned you at birth."

"She tried, my friend," Wagner retorted. "She tried. But, I was clever enough to survive. And, now, I am the best pilot you have."

"I should write you up for this," the captain snapped. "Get you kicked out, or worse!"

"Do you forget, Captain, our commanding officer endorsed this Christmas truce," Wagner returned. "It is you who are in violation, when you chose to break that truce and shoot down two men who fired not a single shot at us. It is our duty now, as men and as Christians, to lend them what aid we can."

"Is this a sermon from the demon who goes to church!"

"Please, Captain," Wagner said, his eyes seeming to gleam a golden yellow from the depths of his oversized hood. "They are drawing near."

* * *

"Merry Christmas, my friends," Wagner greeted in English, stepping out in front of his scowling captain and slowly lowering his white scarf. "Do you require medical aid?"

"What do you care?" Logan grunted.

"Fair enough," the slender German said. "But, I could not help but notice the blood on your trousers. I carry medical supplies and alcohol in my pack."

"Don't need it, bub," Logan said, still holding his gun. "So, why don't you an' your pal here just scram while the scammin's good."

"I—"

"Just a moment," said Major Smith. "Quiet, everybody quiet!"

"What is it?" Wagner asked, his head tilted beneath his hood.

"Shh!" Smith hissed. "Just listen! There...!"

From far in the frozen distance, a gentle sound wafted through the morning air. Somewhere, in some small village beyond the snow dusted fields, church bells pealed out a joyous welcome in praise of Christmas Day.

"Christmas bells..." Wagner breathed, a soft reverence warming his accented voice. "They're ringing the Christmas bells."

Logan sighed, and pulled a hip flask from his pocket. He took a quick swig, then gruffly held it out to the German in front of him.

Wagner regarded him and, for the flash of a moment, Logan thought he caught a glimpse of yellow eyes and smiling white fangs in the dimness beneath the man's deep hood. He frowned a little, but didn't withdraw his offer, beginning to wonder just how many other men might be carrying secrets like his. Mutants with special powers and abilities...or even self-proclaimed aliens, like Major Smith, the one-time doctor forced to learn the ways of war.

Wagner accepted the flask and took a quick drink, then held it out to his captain. The man stiffly declined, so he handed it over to Major Smith, who accepted it gratefully before returning the flask to Logan.

"Merry Christmas," Smith said.

"Merry Christmas," Wagner replied. "Perhaps we shall meet again to duel in earnest. On some other day."

"I'll take that challenge, bub," Logan said, and held out his hand.

Wagner took it firmly, then shook hands with Major Smith. Then, with a nod to his captain, they turned and began the short march back to their monoplane, the Christmas bells still pealing softly in the distance.

"Well," said Major Smith. "Looks like we've got some repairs in front of us, Lieutenant. Ready to get started?"

"Hm?" Logan tore his eyes from Wagner's departing back. Could that strange German actually be hiding a tail beneath that long coat...?

"The rudder, Lieutenant," Smith pointed out. "Are you ready to start the repairs?"

"Of course, Major," Logan said, and headed toward the awkwardly tilted biplane to start his search for their tool kit.

"Logan," Smith called after him.

"Sir?"

"Thank you."

Logan snorted.

"Yeah, well..." he said. "It's Christmas."

 _Finis  
_

* * *

 _References Include: Doctor Who (9th Doctor); Blackadder Goes Fourth; "Snoopy's Christmas" (song);_ _"The Beginning of Air Warfare, 1914," EyeWitness to History, (2008).; and a whole bunch of other books and articles and sites I've read over the years about the Christmas Truce of World War I._

 _I've wanted to write this story since 2014, and now it's finally finished! I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks so much for reading and for your comments and reviews! Happy New Year! :D_


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